The Man Who Ate the World: In Search of the Perfect Dinner by Jay Rayner

Author:Jay Rayner [Rayner, Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780755316342
Google: bGfcOwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0805090231
Publisher: Holt Paperbacks
Published: 2008-10-14T18:30:00+00:00

I am lost in Ginza. Unlike on my first night, this evening my cab driver simply abandoned me. He brought the car to a halt, activated the automatic back doors that all Tokyo taxis have, told me to give him just 1,000 of the 1,300 yen ($12) fare showing on the meter, and drove off. I do not even know whether I am on the right street. Worse, the weather is closing in. A gusty, warm wind is blowing around me, carrying a scatter of raindrops, and I have no umbrella or coat.

I pull my jacket tightly about me and run, head down into the wind, across to the doorman standing guard on a smart but somber-looking restaurant across the road. I have with me a computer printout of a map, with the details of my destination, a place called Asami, but the doorman shakes his head and gestures carelessly toward the darkened, farthest reaches of the street. I reward him with the one word of Japanese I have—Origato, for thank you—and carry on, stopping at the next lit doorway; another smart restaurant.

There the hostess also appears to have no idea where it is, but again waves me away in the same direction. I move on, hopping from what I now realize is one fancy restaurant to another. Do they really not know where one of their neighbors is located, or are they simply refusing to acknowledge the competition? The wind blows. The rain threatens.

Eventually I find it, marked by a stark sliding wooden door, which leads on to a low-ceilinged room with the now familiar counter, this time seating ten. This, however, is a very different place from Yukimura. Yes, the waitress smiles, and they have clearly gone to some trouble on my behalf; waiting on the lacquered wooden tray where I am to be seated is tonight’s menu, translated into English.

But the mood here is serious. The chef does not look up or acknowledge me. A late-middle-aged man to one side of me actively looks away when I sit down. At the far end of the bar is an elderly couple with a sour expression, as if they have a mouthful of wasps. I bury myself in the ritual of the hot towel, which is presented at the beginning of every meal, withdraw my notebook and pen, and study the menu in search of clues.

The first dish is listed as steamed black rice with salt-fermented sea cucumber. The tiny wooden bowl arrives almost immediately and contains something which, even allowing for the lamb in rotting milk that I sampled in Dubai, is one of the nastiest things I have ever eaten. The rice by itself would have been fine, but it is dressed with a sticky, fishy, stinky gunge that makes me retch silently. It tastes like I imagine the slime that gathers on the skin of day-old fish might taste, if one was ever moved to lick it off, and has the consistency of phlegm. I am, however, well dragged up, and I know I must eat it all.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.